Chick Flick: Broken Heart
by gurllimerdancer57
Summary: Chick Flick Series Bk2: It is about a girl with a hard life with 3 jobs, one son, a husband who committed sucide, and non-religous atmostphere at her feet. She makes the most money as a prostitute who plays men until they say I love you. Will she change?


"I love you," Josh said, pulling me tighter, snuggling closer to me. "So much. And it's not because I sleep with you every night, either."

"Um, yeah, I don't think this is going to work." I snapped. His face dropped. "I mean, we have sex every night for three weeks and I get what exactly in return? I love you? Yeah, sorry. I'm not the type you bring to mommy, I'm the type who returns the favor to get the guys their manhood back."

He looked sad. So sad. I pushed the thought that I hurt someone back, and got up out of the queen sized bed. I looked at his alarm clock, and hurried to put my skimpy underwear and exposing tank top on, then pulled the long coat over my body. I zipped up the huge black boots that went past my knees.

"But why would you give me hints of a promise and then walk away?" he asked.

"Because I'm no man's bitch. I'm like a prostitute, okay? Think of me as a playboy bunny. Now, pay up." I opened my hand and glared at him. I was shocked at my own words each time I said this to a guy.

"I don't have to pay you."

"Yes, you do. Pay up or I'm going to be your worst nightmare."

"No."

I cocked my head to the side and said, "I have a gun."

"I have a lawyer and a good group of caring friends and family." He threatened.

"I don't give a -" he cut me off.

"How much, exactly?"

"About seven hundred and fifty-five dollars."

"No. Too big."

"Take it or leave it. I can play dirty, too." I sighed, trying to hurry it up. Then I remembered where he put his wallet. And I also remembered how he said he didn't have a safe and put his money in his ancient vase.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. And you know what, this is what you get."

"What? And you think you're so smart, don't you? I know you're name, baby."

"Yeah, and while you're at it, try explaining to the cops that this Jessica Bor took your virginity." I walked over next to him, and whispered in his ear, "I liked you too. But I can't be with you." Then I pressed on his pressure point, knocking him out, dug in his vase for the big wad of cash, and headed home.

I walked into my apartment happy as happy can be. I just got enough money to pay for my electrical bill for this month. I quickly skipped into my room, changed into more appropriate clothing, and waited for my four year old son to come walking into my room any minute.

Yes, I'm a mother. I know, you're probably thinking how the heck can I be a mother, but I am. And since you do not know my name, here's my life story.

My name is Stephanie Kay Jelter, and I am twenty-four years old. I work three jobs as a waitress, clothes saleswoman and a prostitute. I have one sister, who's happily married with three girls and one boy. She's eight years older than me.

I was married once, but he committed suicide. He did not get a funeral because I burned his body and shut-up about it. His parents do not know where he is because they don't care about him ever since he married me. We got married in Vegas; so obviously, it was frowned upon for not getting a traditional wedding. I dropped out of high-school when I was seventeen years old for him, and he got me pregnant three times before my son now. I gave birth to all three of them, but I adopted them for people who cannot have kids but really would like them. My first born was a girl when I was sixteen or seventeen. I had my second one, a boy, when I was about eighteen-nineteen years old. I had my third baby, second girl when I was about nineteen-twenty. I kept the last one because his mom told me to. My husband's name was Hank Kirc.

My son's name is Trace. He has his father's last name, though. He was an accident. Well, the first one wasn't. The other three was. I still love him, but he makes things difficult. He still breast-feeds, and he swears when he's mad. He can't go to day care because he swears...which means he gets mad a lot. And since he breastfeeds, it sucks to be a prostitute with sore breasts. He sleeps the whole night, and he's so annoying because he wants to go to church every Sunday with me to pray for his father. I tell him I'm not going to church because we're not welcome there and I don't get the whole God-Jesus BS so I just tell him "Not today."

And yes, I'm not Christian. End of that.

Which reminds me….

It's Sunday.

I walked over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of wine, called Hank's mom to come get Trace for church, and decided what I was going to wear tonight at the bar.

And yet, besides the drugs, the sex, the social life, and the crappy family, the world keeps spinning whether I want it to or not.


End file.
